


Frankie

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Children, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin, having lost his partner a couple of years ago, is finally selling the boathouse she was so happy in. The Lake District is rainy and full of memories, but bursting in on Merlin's peace is Arthur, a man who Merlin has never met, but is about to get quite intimate with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Storm is Coming (Or: Arthur)

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT NOTES!!!: There's some graphic descriptions of babies and some expletives. Nothing of a sexual nature
> 
> ALSO SEE END FOR TRIGGERS/CONTENT!!! plus spoilers, thus the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT!!!!: See end!

It's sunny for the first time in what feels like weeks. Merlin's been working in the garden in the rain for the past six days and has been wet and cold consistently since he arrived here. It's a beautiful place, sure, but it was always more to Freya's taste. The tame wilds of the Lake District often giving way to skree and rain and gloomy English weather, the ever-changing cloud coverage and various kinds of 'wet'. Sometimes Merlin will look across the lakes and see the wildness Freya loved, the swathes of grey on grey-green on grey-blue, against grey sky and grey cloud, the earth and rock of the old hills showing like bones, the lakes like gashes in the rain, ragged in the monotonous colour scheme.

But today it's sunny, and Merlin gets on his leathers and takes his bike into town to stock up on food. He's going to be out here for three more weeks, he might as well do stock runs when he's not going to end up encased in wet leather, which is unpleasant even on a good day. And these last few days have not been good days. Freya's absent body in the bed at night and inhabiting the house, her laughter and voice everywhere, but never there when Merlin turns. The garden still holding the deep impress of her green thumb. Every nook and cranny holding her and her and her.

Merlin takes breaks, going to the nearest big town for a change of scenery, to escape the heavy memories. He’s on his way back from one of these breaks when he comes across the car. It's big, so it's hard to miss, something posh and American and probably worth about six times as much as Merlin makes a year. Or maybe not, he knows nothing about cars. There's a man with a pot belly stood beside the car. Merlin slows to see if he needs help, and as he pulls over he sees the man yell and throw a phone and kick the car and then sit in a pathetic pile of misery and burst into tears. 

“Need a hand, mate?” Merlin queries, tugging off his helmet, strolling back to the poor bloke, “are you alright?”

“Don't you think the answers to both those questions are fairly apparent? I'm sat in the middle of nowhere, in my good trousers, and it's sunny but hardly warm or dry, and I'm crying! What the hell do you think?”

“That you could use a drink?” Merlin suggests with a grin, “I'd offer to take a look under the hood, but I know nothing about car insides.”

“I know plenty, and there's nothing to be done. It's fucked and has been fucked for fucking ages and fucking Leon took the other fucking car and fuck!”

Merlin waits to see if any more is coming, but that seems to be about it.

“I'd offer to call a mechanic for you, but there's no signal for miles.”

“I noticed,” the man says, then bursts into a fresh bout of tears, covering his face with his hand and muttering, “bloody hell.”

“So, is that no to the drink?”

“I can't drink, you idiot,” the man says, sounding weary, “I don't suppose you have such an outdated thing as a landline?”

“I do as it happens, and I shall even conduct you to the house on my white steed, if you should so wish,” Merlin says.

The man nods, and holds out his hand.

“Merlin,” Merlin says, shaking his hand.

“I was asking for help up, you idiot. I'm Arthur.”

Merlin heaves him to his feet. Arthur follows him to the motorbike and gives it a distrustful look. Merlin gives him the helmet, but still has to promise to drive slowly and carefully before Arthur will climb on. It seems to give him some trouble, getting his leg across, but once he's seated he sighs, and he grabs on to Merlin willingly enough. His arms tighten dramatically when Merlin starts the engine, and tighten further when they go slowly round the bends.

“It's not much!” Merlin yells back, into the wind, “Just a little house! It belonged to my, uh, partner!”

“What?”

“Never mind!”

Merlin hums to himself, once he's established conversation is impossible. Freya used to laugh at him, because he'd talk to her the whole way wherever they were going, even though she couldn't understand a word of it. She never minded, told him to get it all out before her ears had to be offended. She'd been much less afraid than this Arthur, holding on one handed, turning her head to catch the wind. She'd liked it. Said it felt free. Though she refused to get a licence or even try driving.

“My partner used to say she only felt safe if it was me driving,” Merlin says, but of course Arthur doesn't hear and just mutters a confused 'what?' into Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin usually hurtles down the lanes, especially when it's sunny and visibility is good, like today. But, he goes slow and steady for Arthur's sake. The increasingly narrow lanes make Arthur nervous, and when Merlin bumps down the track to the little wooden structure right on the lake, Arthur shoves at Merlin as soon as he’s stopped, knees and elbows pushing until Merlin gets off and Arthur can half- topple, half- roll after him, hands out, backing away from Merlin. 

“What, who are you? Where are we? Why have you brought me here? I knew it. I knew I was going to die in some horrific tragedy. You're a murderer, aren't you? I swear, Arthur Pendragon, you just don’t think, do you? Ask him questions, get him to take you to town, don’t just jump on his bike and blithely allow him to take you home!” Arthur says, turning in tight circles

“Are you wanting me to respond to any of that?” Merlin asks. 

“No, obviously- yes! What? You’re not a murderer, are you?”

“Nope.”

“How am I meant to know these things? My father never told me not to go home with strangers, but I knew vaguely that the general idea was to not do that! And yet here I am.”

Nonsensically, Arthur wraps his arms around his stomach, as if protecting it. He must drink a hell of a lot of beer. Merlin wonders idly if he's pregnant, then snorts at his own joke. Arthur shakes his head and gives Merlin a distrustful look, though he seems calmer. Merlin shrugs and turns towards the house. Arthur can follow if he wants to.

“Not gonna hurt you,” Merlin tosses over his shoulder, “but I've only got my word, mate.”

Arthur follows up the narrow stairs, the bare, light wood helping to illuminate the dim hall, and through into the big open living area. The kitchen and the living area split by a long counter, the wall all glass and everywhere wood. Merlin kneels to light the wood burner.

“I suppose I might as well trust you,” Arthur says, standing in the doorway. 

“I suppose you might. Phone's on the table by the window,” Merlin says.

Arthur moves across behind him, not putting his back to Merlin, still eyeing him suspiciously. Merlin listens to him key in the number and then turns, surveying the room. It's sun-warmed, but still not warm enough to sit in here. Not warm enough to sit out on the small balcony, either. Sunny enough to lie in front of the windows and look over the lake, if one should so wish. Merlin heads to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“No,” Arthur says into the phone, “I'm at some randomer's house. The car's useless... yes it's the... of course it is you idiot, you knew and I knew... I know I could have, but I didn't.... can't you... then go fuck yourself you tool!”

“No good?” Merlin asks, “want a cuppa?”

“As long as it isn't Tetleys. In fact, I prefer loose leaf, so do you have that?”

“Nope,” Merlin says, “just Tesco builders’.”

“Fine, fine, I suppose I can live with that, mind if I call someone else? Leon refuses to do anything.”

“Go ahead.”

Merlin decides to make a teapot. He considers just dumping everything in two mugs, simply for entertainment value (Mr-I-don't-drink-Tetley's might have an aneurysm, very entertaining), but decides on a pot in the end. It's a two-cup afternoon for sure. At the very least.

“How am I meant to know what’s wrong with the stupid thing!” Arthur shouts, and Merlin revises that to a three-cup afternoon, “no!... I don't know.... I don't know, some guy called Martin with a motorbike. I rode a motorbike... Martin, where are we?”

Merlin gives him the address, but takes his time doing it. His name is definitely not Martin.

“I don't care how long it would take you. No. Come get me. No, no... I don't... no... no!”

Merlin frowns. Arthur, so far, has cried twice, thrown a phone, and is now sounding like he's about to freak out entirely and possibly have a panic attack.

“No!”

In the end, Arthur just bursts into tears again and flops onto the sofa, curling forwards, covering his mouth and holding his stomach. Again.

“Do you need anything?” Merlin asks, trying sympathy.

“No,” Arthur says, through his hand, “Jay, you have to come... no... I don't know, he's called Martin...”

“Merlin, actually,” Merlin says, “here, tea.”

Arthur doesn't move, so Merlin puts the mug on the side-table with the lamp. Arthur closes his eyes and then gives Merlin a helpless look, and Merlin sits beside him, giving in to the instinct to comfort.

“James, I need to... I understand. No, I do... I understand,” Arthur says, “I know you said... okay. Alright... Bye.”

Arthur hangs up and covers his face, stifling a sob.

“Hey,” Merlin says, “it's just a car, mate. It'll be good in the morning, I can call the local mechanic. Yeah?”

Arthur shakes his head and rubs over his stomach and, yeah, there's definitely something. Merlin opens his mouth, then closes it again, then opens it, then closes it. He can't say that. He really can't. It's too rude. But, it really is something.

“Just ask,” Arthur says.

Merlin realises he's staring at Arthur's stomach, and Arthur seems to have got a hold of himself and noticed.

“Are you?” Merlin asks.

“Am I pregnant? Yes.”

“But...” Merlin says, then covers his mouth to stop the rest slipping out.

“I'm trans. You might as well know, I'm already in the middle of nowhere in a stranger's house and I rode a motorbike. I might as well throw caution to the wind. Perhaps you'll take pity because of the child. I'm a man, but I have a uterus.”

“Oh. So, you're really....?”

“Yeah.”

The sun lights Arthur up, and though he still looks miserable, he lowers his head and his eyelashes, blond on tanned skin, catch the light. His hair catches the light. And as he admits to the child in him, he looks down at his stomach and smiles. A crooked, genuine smile. And he's beautiful. Boyish and posh boy English, aristocratic nose and full lips. His beauty is in the flaws, though. The way his lips quirk higher on one side, the uneven teeth, the ridge of his nose.

“Congratulations,” Merlin says.

Arthur looks up and smiles wider, sitting back into the sofa, pleased.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, pressing a hand to his bump, “yeah.”

They smile stupidly at one another for far too long. If this were a film, it’d be a ‘love at first glance’ kind of lingering look, but it's more like shared awe and excitement. Less romantic and more like meeting someone and discovering something in common.

“That's cool,” Merlin says.

“I know,” Arthur says, smile widening still further, meeting Merlin's eyes properly for the first time, lashes stuck in clumps from crying. Then he scowls. “But it makes me useless! I keep crying!”

Merlin laughs and the moment's broken, Arthur leaning to rub at his face and sighing.

“I'm rather afraid I have nowhere to go, so unless you feel like carting me somewhere or pointing me in the direction of a bus, I'm really not sure what to do,” Arthur says.

“I can't in all good conscience just dump a pregnant person in the 'middle of nowhere', can I?” Merlin says.

“One might, you know,” Arthur says, “if the option was... to have them invade one's home.”

“I invited you in,” Merlin says, “you're welcome to sit and drink tea until we come up with a solution. To begin with I'll call Will and he can tow your car here and take a look, he's a genius with engines. Really great at all that.”

“Alright,” Arthur says, “I can't drink too much tea, though. It has caffeine and I had coffee already today.”

Merlin calls Will and makes arrangements for Arthur's car, and bribes Will into finding Arthur's phone, too. When he's done that he makes Arthur something to eat. It's kind of nice, to have someone to fuss over, to have a distraction. To not be so haunted by Freya.

“You can ask,” Arthur says, softly, curled into the sofa and wrapped around a hot water bottle Merlin made when Arthur complained of a sore back (he's not using it on his back and Merlin's pretty sure Arthur was just complaining, the way he's sat), “those questions you're biting back.”

“I actually don't have many, if you mean the trans and pregnant man thing. I know a little, I'm queer and have done my homework on the other groups under my umbrella, as it were. I've questioned my own gender, though I decided in the end I don't want to be anything except what I am. I did some drag, at uni, kind of trying things out..”

Merlin grins, remembering those days, Freya in a suit and short hair, on his arm. He'd been outrageous, as skimpy as he could, stuffing socks into a bra, stockings and heels and so many wigs begged off mates. Freya had loved it, though the crowds set off her anxiety.

“Oh,” Arthur says.

“I have some questions, though. Do you have names? Are you excited? You seem the sort to have already planned which school your kid will go to,” Merlin says.

“Eton, of course,” Arthur says, then snorts, “obviously not Eton. Ugh. I want...” Arthur hesitates, then offers shyly, “I want a name that's not gendered.”

“Like... Jay?”

“Not Jay. Not Jamie or Jay or any of those stupid ‘James’ variations.”

“Not a good friend?”

“The child's father, who refuses to have anything to do with me. Not his fault, it was a one night stand. He's a work colleague, which makes it awkward. But, not Jay. Maybe Val, or Alex. Billie, Andy. I like Hillary, but am aware it's too posh.”

“Might make your kid feel right at home with you,” Merlin teases.

Arthur smiles and tilts his head back, idly running his fingers over his jeans.

“We'll see when they pop out.”

“Pop?” Merlin says, “I've heard it's more like hhhhnnnnnggggaaaaah!”

Arthur laughs, head still back, eyes closing, bathed in the waning sunshine. He really is lovely. Merlin's fingers itch to draw him, the line of his jaw, the shadows and lines, the clear blue eyes.

“I'm going to have a caesarian,” Arthur says, “I can't do natural birth. I considered it, but it set my dysphoria off so badly. They're gonna gut me and pull the thing out. I have it all planned. Two weeks, and out it'll pop.”

“I have a question. You've struggled with gender identity, obviously, so will you gender the kid?”

“I considered raising them gender neutral. But the way I figure, it's a parent's job to equip a child for the world they will one day have to live in, and I want my child to be able to function in society. I'll encourage a more open idea of gender, I suppose, but, yes, I suppose I will gender them.”

“I wasn't trying to judge or suggest or anything, only I kind of wanted to ask the eternal question. Do you know the sex?”

“No. No, I don't like that. The first thing anyone ever asks. No. I'm not going to find out. I don't... no.”

Merlin shrugs and gathers the dishes, leaving Arthur to work off whatever fuss the question worked him into. Merlin gives his shoulder a squeeze on his way past to the kitchen, though. Because Arthur is so inviting to touch. They way his body-language is open and comfortable, now he's sure Merlin's not attacking him, the way he's so lovely, strong shoulders and profile and strong hands. The way he seems to glow in the sun where he's sat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some trans-phobic and ces-normative behaviour mentioned and some language.


	2. Some Bodily Fluids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should I stay or should I go? Trapped in the countryside, Arthur weighs up his options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT NOTES: some bodily fluids. Really sorry guys.   
> `

Will pulls up behind the house before Merlin's done with the dishes and he and Arthur go out and stand around for a while. Merlin pretends to have an idea what the other two are talking about, and Will keeps rolling his eyes at Merlin for it. Arthur listens to Will's opinions with a wrinkled brow and questions them. So of course Will doesn't think much of him.

“Look, mate, your car's screwed. I can get the part for Friday. There's a car hire place in the big town, you can get a train or a taxi. I dunno. Whatever. It'll take a while for me to get the part, if you want me to fix it. The AA probably can't do it quicker. You can probably pay to get the thing towed home. Tell me what you want when you decide. Until then, I'm going home because I'm finished working for today,” Will says, before stomping away.

“Oh,” Arthur says, running a hand over the metal of the car, “I suppose I should call a taxi. I don't really want to drive any more today. Is there a hotel in this ‘big town’, too?”

“You can stay here,” Merlin says, and then, quickly, “Look, I know it's weird and probably not necessary, but I'm not an axe murderer and it really is the middle of nowhere here. It's off season so most of the places around here are shut down. There is a Premier Inn in the big town, as Will calls it, but it's not great.”

“I don't know. I should just call a taxi.”

“I know, mate, but you're knackered. And I know it's weird, but we've already talked a load, right? I bet you told me stuff you don't talk about much.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So, call someone to collect you tomorrow, and sleep here. I'll give you the bedroom, there's a bolt on the door. You'll be safe.”

“Why's there a bolt on the door?” Arthur asks, alarm returning.

“My partner had anxiety that made her need space, sometimes, even from me. And a guarantee that I wouldn't be able to disturb her. For her peace of mind, not because she didn't trust me. So, she had a bolt on the door for when I was staying.”

“You didn't live together?”

“No,” Merlin says.

“Alright. I can't call anyone to collect me, though. Leon won't, because he lives in Aberdeen, and the only other person I know well enough to ask is James. And he won't, because of the... because of the thing.”

“What about friends?” Merlin asks, as they head back into the house. Arthur pauses on the stairs, touching his stomach, “family?”

“My father is my only family and he… I can’t ask him. And friends... no. I don't... I have colleagues, and there are people who I sort of know from around. But, I work, and I work hard, and I don't... no. I...”

“It's alright,” Merlin says, softly, touching Arthur between his shoulder blades and rubbing when he doesn't pull away, guiding him back to the sofa, “friends are hard to make, after uni.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, relieved, “and it's not like I have none. I have Leon, and, and, people from work. Drinks and cinema friends. And people I go to Pride with. And things. Just not... calling when I'm stuck in the Lake District friends. Except Lance, Lance would do it. But he’s not even in the country at the moment!”

“How did you end up here?” Merlin asks. “Hey, are you warm enough, by the way?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, then winces, “no, not really. I've been getting pretty cold since this whole thing. Which is weird. Apparently hot flushes are more normal.”

“Do you want a blanket? Or do you have something warmer in the car?”

“All that's in the car is a first aid kit, a spare wheel, and a whole ton of paperwork, I didn’t intent to stay anywhere long.I was up in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, checking on the Scottish parts of the family company. My father prefers it these days if I'm not where the board members may 'see something'.”

“Oh.”

“I'm headed to London, to stay in a hospital until the baby.”

“How will your father explain the kid suddenly appearing?”

“He won't, he won't have to. Everyone knows, it's just an unspoken, unacknowledged thing. Everyone knows everything about my life. I grew up in the company and there was only so much privacy available. Everyone knows it's James's, too, and that he doesn't want it.”

Merlin doesn't have anything to say to that, so he gets Arthur a blanket and goes to make dinner.

Arthur’s company isn’t bad, Merlin discovers over dinner. He has no interest in the kind of political and social issues Merlin and Freya used to spent hours debating here, but he’s happy to listen to Merlin talk about art, and he teaches Merlin the rules of rugby very patiently. Merlin listens until Arthur describes Richie Gray as ‘built like a brick shit house’, at which point he has hysterics and has to try and explain to Arthur why. 

“I was teaching in Spain, just summer schools, and someone had heard the phrase and wanted it explaining and it was just… I think you had to be there.”

They talk about travel for a while and Merlin explains how he teaches English as a foreign language, firstly as a way to travel and now as a way to supplement his income as a freelance illustrator. Arthur shares a story about staying in Hong Kong and getting lost, only to discover the office he was looking for was right there, twelve stories above his head, neon sign sparking out. Arthur yawns when Merlin starts talking about Hong Kong and Chinese politics.

“Sorry,” Merlin says, shutting up.

“Not you. I’m just tired. Carry on.”

“You can go to bed, if you like.”

“It’s early.”

“You’re tired.”

Arthur glares, but does end up excusing himself. Merlin listens to him moving around in the bedroom briefly, then starts clearing the table and getting the dishes done. He keeps an ear out for a while, waiting to see if Arthur wants anything (like to ask if Merlin has a spare toothbrush), but he doesn’t appear so Merlin lets himself get wrapped up in the book he brought with him. 

Merlin turns the TV on after a bit, and sits on the sofa, not really watching, mind full of the old warmth he got from sitting up late with Freya. Her passionate rants about the damaged world and damaged people, her reactions to online articles and blog posts, her quiet, helpless anger about the murders and attacks and wars. She seemed to grieve for everyone. Merlin used to sit on the sofa, tangled with her, frustrated with her inability to just turn it off when it hurt her. They weren’t her hurts, but sometimes it seemed they were. He loved her for her empathetic nature, but it was frustrating sometimes. 

Merlin flicks through the channels absently, settling eventually on match of the day. He hopes it will distract him and make his brain switch tracks- he and Freya never watched sports together. He enjoys watching the skill of the players and he’s celebrating a good goal when Arthur starts making noises in the bedroom again. Merlin doesn’t notice it at first, but the sounds slowly trickle through. Arthur pacing up and down, the light going on, and then more pacing. The light going off. Arthur muttering. The bed creaking under Arthur’s weight, then Arthur’s weight lifting again. Merlin listens, decides that if Arthur wants help he’ll ask, and tunes it out again. 

Merlin watches football for an hour, then switches the TV off and goes to lock up. The boathouse is empty, no boats left to deal with, but he still has to make sure the side door and the door through to the house part of the building are locked. He locks the front door and then the flat door, turns off the kitchen lights and leaves just the standing light by the sofa. He reads for another ten minutes, then yawns and settles in to sleep. 

Arthur’s still pacing. Up and down, up and down, occasionally making soft sounds, sometimes sitting on the bed or getting off again. Merlin tries to tune it out, but with everything quiet and nothing else to focus on it wriggles into his head and gets inside, trapped. Merlin follows Arthur. Up and down, back and forth. He hears the ensuite light go on and the door between the bedroom and ensuite close. He tries to fall asleep while Arthur’s busy in the bathroom, and quiet. His body gets heavy, his mind slows, the sounds of the night settle. 

The toilet flushing and the water running rouses Merlin slightly, then the ensuite door banging open destroys the vestiges of the doze and Merlin’s awake again. He sighs and turns over, putting a cushion over his head. He can still hear. He finds himself straining to fill in the sounds he’s expecting. Then the bedroom door bolt thuds and the door opens. Arthur tiptoes across the living-room space and the kitchen tap goes on. 

Merlin sighs and gets up, turning on the lights. Arthur, stood at the sink in his underwear, makes an apologetic face and turns, a glass of water in hand. 

“Sorry,” Arthur says, “I’m keeping you up.”

“Yup,” Merlin says, “It’s okay. Anything I can do?”

“No. Kid’s just restless, I think. Or tap dancing. Or tying itself in knots. Just feels weird.”

“Hmm,” Merlin says, yawning. 

“Sorry, I’ll just take the glass and fill it from the bathroom, won’t disturb you again.”

“This house has no soundproofing, I can hear you pacing.”

“Oh. Um… the movement sometimes sends the baby off to sleep.”

“Don’t worry, you can get up if you like, I’m not sleeping right now anyway.”

“You were.”

“As in, I’m now not sleepy and my brain is awake.”

“Oh.”

Arthur makes a face that is decidedly less apologetic and more, if Merlin’s reading it right, ‘that’s how life goes’. Merlin snorts and ushers Arthur over to the sofa, putting the kettle on as they pass. 

“You drink tea when you can’t sleep?” Arthur asks, disapproval clear.

“Yeah, herbal tea.”

Arthur makes a sound of derision and stretches, both hands pushing into the small of his back. Merlin watches, waiting for the kettle. Arthur bends over his lap, then makes a frustrated noise and heaves himself up to his feet so he can bend further, stretching out his muscles. Merlin gets distracted by the muscles flexing in his bare thighs.

“Kettle’s boiling,” Arthur says, looking up.

Merlin goes to make himself a tea, calling to Arthur to check he doesn’t want anything then peering over his tea things to watch Arthur. He’s got a view from the side and Arthur’s doing something that tenses and relaxes the muscles all up his thighs and back, including his arse. Merlin spills hot water over the counter. 

“Are you always clumsy?” Arthur asks, “honestly. You’re like a disaster.”

“Hey!” Merlin protests. 

Arthur straightens up to smile at him, impatience passing. Merlin takes his tea through and curls up on the sofa, and Arthur sits as well, rubbing his back and his stomach in turn.

“Anyone ever suggests skipping the abortion and having the spawn,” Arthur mutters, “kick ‘em in the bollocks.”

Merlin laughs, swallowing his mouthful of tea the wrong way and choking on it so as not to spit it out. Arthur slaps him on the knee. 

“Oi!” Merlin says, coughing. 

“Couldn’t reach your back. You’re hopeless.”

“Maybe. I thought you wanted the kid? I got that impression.”

“I do, very much so. And, aside from the obvious… comments and people being complete… I haven’t actually hated being pregnant. It feels amazing, someone growing inside you. It didn’t even make me feel like a woman, not really. Just totally human, like an experience that transcends. I want to say it’s made me feel much more masculine, but that feels kind of like taking something away from women.”

“Um,” Merlin says, turning his cup, “I guess. My Mum’s always said childbirth shouldn’t be a feminist issue, except in terms of body autonomy. Does that have bearing?”

“No idea,” Arthur says, “don’t really care at the moment, my back’s killing me.”

He gets to his feet again and starts walking. Or, rolling, kind of. Waddling. Merlin watches over his tea cup. Arthur moves to the back of the sofa and uses it as support for more stretches, groaning. He holds his stomach for a moment, then rubs over and over. 

“Alright?” Merlin asks. 

“Just cramps,” Arthur says, shrugging, “nothing really. Indigestion seems to be my life these days. You’re done with your tea, I’ll let you get back to resting. I’ll try not to pace.”

“Go ahead, if it helps, I’ll manage.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says, “you’re surprisingly agreeable, for someone so…”

Arthur waves a hand and Merlin decides not to ask for elucidation. He watches Arthur return to the bedroom, listens to the bolt slide across, and turns off the lights, settling down to try and sleep again. He manages to, this time, the sound of pacing more rhythmic and predictable than before. Arthur, somehow, becoming part of the building’s noises. 

Arthur wakes Merlin up the next morning by singing, at an increasing volume. Merlin lies on the sofa, waiting for Arthur to emerge. He thinks of Freya, of lying here with her in mornings. He likes remembering her in this house, happy, released from the awful anxiety she had in the city. She wasn’t cured, but it was much more manageable. She had been so happy. 

“Sorry, I suddenly thought maybe I woke you up. Thought a lullaby would help settle the baby, but I could only remember Metallica. I got a bit carried away,” Arthur says, coming into the living room. 

Merlin notices his wife beater. He had been wearing a t-shirt last night, he must have had layers upon layers- wife beater, t-shirt, formal shirt, jacket. Now there are no sleeves Merlin can see his muscular shoulders and back, and his thighs and calves under the boxers. It’s distracting. From an aesthetic point of view. Merlin watches Arthur sit himself in an armchair, those thighs flexing to lower his bulk, taking the weight in his shoulders as he goes. Like a well-made machine. 

“What time is it?” Merlin asks, absently, watching Arthur’s body. 

“About ten. I’ve been awake ages, the stupid kid is kicking and rolling and doing acrobatics in there, I’m going to be pissing all morning.”

“Um,” Merlin says. 

“It’s on my bladder,” Arthur says, “are you going to offer to make me breakfast?”

“Um, I guess I could do toast. I have cereal?”

“No eggs? hash browns? Normal people breakfast foods?”

“There might be, I think there are eggs? I mean… toast and cereal is good.”

Arthur scowls, but heaves himself back to his feet. Merlin sits up and leans on the back of the sofa to watch Arthur in the kitchen. He has a wonderful bum, too, Merlin thinks as Arthur crosses the room. It gets hidden behind the counter, but Merlin knows it’s there. Arthur’s back is equally enjoyable to watch, anyway, the muscles working under thin cotton as he gets out frying pan, eggs, bread, searching cupboards under Merlin’s absent-minded instructions.

“Totally useless. And the bacon?” Arthur asks. 

“Mm, maybe. Might be some,” Merlin says, thinking, “yeah, in the fridge door?”

Arthur pauses, grimacing and holding his stomach, then gives the bump a rub and rummages around coming up with half a pack of bacon, beaming in victory. That smile again. Merlin reaches carefully along the shelf under the coffee table, grabbing his sketchbook and whatever pens are there. He gets a fine liner, two Stabler coloured pencils, a small box of oil pastels and two conté crayons. 

Merlin uses the conté crayons to sketch the lithe movement of Arthur’s muscles, in contrast to the heavy way he walks around, kind of like an untethered balloon, swaying and rolling along. Arthur moves across Merlin’s page as he cooks, uncurling from Merlin’s crayon, lines of movement and thick patches of stillness, when Arthur’s breathing gets a bit rough and he pauses to rub his stomach, lean on the counter or stretch. 

When Arthur stops and leans on the counter again, hands in his back, waiting for the toaster to pop, bacon sizzling gently, Merlin switches to the pen and starts a new page for Arthur’s face. He quickly discards the thin ink lines for thick blocks of pastel, colour bringing Arthur’s bright eyes and soft mouth to life, the pale of his skin, the flush

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks, much closer than Merlin had expected. 

Merlin shuts the sketchbook guiltily and looks up into Arthur’s face, smiling. He shrugs and slides the book down the side of the sofa, leaning on the back again. 

“Nothin’,” Merlin tries, with a grin. 

Maybe he’ll try seductive. He bats his eyelashes. When he can see again after the flurry, Arthur’s got his hands on his hips, big stomach protruding. 

“You have ink on your fingers, smudges of crayon on your face, and the debris of drawing is all around you,” Arthur says. 

Merlin looks, and sure enough his supplies are scattered over the sofa. 

“Oops,” Merlin says, “still nothing?”

“Let me see. You were drawing me, I know you were. Oh Jesus,” Arthur says, bending at the waist and cradling his stomach, “come on, give me something to distract me. This baby’s a nightmare. Kicking and rolling all night and not letting up.”

Merlin sighs, but hands over the book. Arthur flips through till he finds himself, then runs a finger over the edges, smudging the lines. 

“I look ridiculous. Do I walk like that?” Arthur asks, but he sounds pleased. 

“Kinda,” Merlin says. 

Arthur turns over and frowns at his face on the page. 

“You’re pretty good at this,” Arthur says, and goes backwards to older pictures. 

“Don’t-” Merlin says, up on his knees and reaching, but it’s too late. 

“Who is this?” Arthur asks.

Merlin looks at the old pictures. Freya sleeping, sitting in the window, out on the lake. Freya swimming, walking, running. Freya cooking, gardening, cleaning the boats. Freya sad, Freya happy, Freya angry. Her face and body and mind everywhere. 

“Is this your partner?” Arthur asks, “she looks… amazing.”

“She was. She was incredible. She died, years ago.”

“Oh,” Arthur says. 

Merlin waits, expecting ‘sorry to hear that’ or some variation, but Arthur just keeps on looking through the book as if it’s normal, as if people do die, as if that’s how the world works.

“She looks very graceful,” Arthur says, pausing at a picture of Freya walking the hills ,“she loved it, here? Right? This place. She loved it?”

“Yes she did.”

“Mm. Ow, ow, thhh,” Arthur’s fingers tighten on the book and he leans on the back of the sofa, head dipping.

Arthur closes the book and hands it back, the pain passing, and that’s it. He now knows about Freya. The big elephant of death is passed over and done with. Merlin sits, thoughtful, wondering if Freya would have liked Arthur. He’s a little abrasive and not very polite, but Freya had no patience with people who were well mannered simply for manners’ sake. She hadn’t liked people being short with her, but she hadn’t minded a little impatience aimed elsewhere. She’d have found his presence, the sort of stage presence she’d said everyone had all the time, intimidating, perhaps. Arthur’s presence, like his stomach, is large. 

“You’re staring again,” Arthur says. 

Merlin looks away from Arthur’s stomach and up at his face instead, shrugging apologetically. Arthur smiles at him and shrugs back, rubbing a hand over the bump again.

“Gotta go pee,” Arthur says, getting up and waddling away. 

When Arthur comes back out he dumps the breakfast onto two plates and sits at the table. Merlin joins him and thinks he should rescue stranded pregnant men more often, if it gets him breakfast. It all tastes pretty good, too. The bacon’s crispy, the eggs are neither runny nor rubbery, the toast is lightly brown and Arthur buttered it, so the butter’s melted in. 

“This is good,” Merlin says, sopping up yoke, “thanks.”

“Sure,” Arthur says. 

Merlin glances at him, surprised at underlying tone he hears- one of distraction and, possibly, pain. Arthur’s pushing his food around his plate with a fork one handed, the other rubbing over the swell of his stomach. His face is blank, but as Merlin watches a grimace flashes across it. 

“What?” Merlin asks, faintly alarmed. 

“Um, nothing,” Arthur says, but another fleeting wince flashes across his face. 

“Seriously,” Merlin says, “if you die on my nice wood floors I’ll never sell this place.”

“You’re selling?” Arthur asks.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t know. It hurts, there’ve been these pains for the last few hours, coming and going. It’s kind of like the cramps and indigestion I get, but… also not like that.”

“So…?”

“So I don’t know.”

“Is the baby coming?”

“No. It can’t come here. This isn’t the right place, the hospital I planned to go to isn’t near here.”

Merlin lets out an incredulous laugh, but Arthur, when Merlin looks over, is looking at Merlin with a desperate kind of expression, and he looks as if he’s hanging on to his calm with his fingertips, so Merlin stops laughing. 

“Why do you need that particular hospital?” Merlin asks, then panics, “did you have some kind of surgery down there and need specialists to get the baby out of you? Oh god!”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course not. If that was the case I’d hardly be wandering in the middle of nowhere, would I? I can, technically, give birth. But I’m not doing that.”

“So why the specific hospital?” Merlin says, clawing back the panic. 

He cannot be having Arthur giving birth in his living room, it just would not be a good thing.

“I… I just don’t want to have to explain.”

“Explain what?”

“I’m a trans man, Merlin. I don’t have… I don’t like explaining my… parts. I have a penis, okay? But not… not like… it’s a trans penis, it’s different.”

“Do you want to go over it with me, now, and I can do the explaining in the future?”

“They’ll take me to hospital, Merlin! You don’t want…”

Arthur closes his eyes and bends forward, pushing his chair back, moaning in pain.

“Tell me. I’ll come with you.”

“A cis person might call my penis a clitoris. It’s not, though. It’s a penis. It’s bigger, and it has a foreskin.”

Arthur moans again, burying his face in his hands. 

“Okay.”

“My birth name is Adeline, and they might call me that. It’s on all the medical stuff for reasons, sometimes the docs need to know assigned sex.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t be her, not like this. I can’t be.”

“That’s okay. But can I please ring an ambulance? We’ll get to the hospital in lots of time and get things sorted, calmly, while you-”

“No, we won’t,” Arthur says, looking up at Merlin, face white, and kind of guilty, “I think these are contractions and they’ve been coming since about midnight.”

Merlin stares at Arthur, then looks down at his breakfast. He’s nearly finished, so no food will be wasted. He looks at his dirty plate and wonders if he should get some bread to sop up the leftovers.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry!” Merlin says, startling back to the important present, “what do I do?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know I’m just a random stranger, but I need your help. I need you to help me.”

“Okay, I can do that. I’ll help.”

“I think I… I don’t… I…w- whoa!” 

 

Arthur shoves his chair further back from the table and the chair drips. Merlin stares in horror as Arthur’s boxers dampen, moisture seeping from his crotch, and liquid pours from him in a spatter of gross.


	3. You've Got a Puncture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here We Go! Put your hands up for.... you know what

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT!: More bodily fluids and some graphic descriptions, plus some body issues and discussion of genitals.

“Jesus,” Merlin says, “you have a puncture. You’re, you’re… your innards.”

“It’s m-my waters, shit, shit. I can’t… not here. I have to be in London. I can’t go to some shit fest of a hospital in the middle of nowhere they’ll call me Adeline and try to make me have this giant child by, by, by pushing it out! I can’t do that! I don’t have that, that, that kind of equipment!”

“We just talked about this!” Merlin says, panicking, arms flapping around his head, “we decided you’d go, remember?”

“No,” Arthur says, straightening, foot in the liquid, “no, I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll just… stay here, yeah?”

Arthur looks up at Merlin, face devoid of any emotion. Merlin recognises it as panic, and tries to calm himself, using the techniques he used to help Freya with. Eventually he’s able to breathe better and stop jittering about. He meets Arthur’s eyes. 

“You’re going to have a baby, Arthur. I can’t help with that, I don’t know what to do. I’m going to call an ambulance, and I’m going to come with you, and I will do the talking for you. I’ll even bawl everyone out if they misgender you or get your name wrong.”

“Or try to talk about my vagina?”

“Um, well, yes, but they probably will talk about that, because… um… that’s where the baby comes out. So, I can only do so much there.”

Arthur nods, then yells in pain and slumps forward over his stomach, holding on, breathing hard and fast. Merlin kind of loses it a little. Just a little. 

“What do I do?!” Merlin yells, jumping up to his feet, “hot water and towels. That’s what they do in films. I’ll put the kettle on and get towels.”

“Call a fucking ambulance you cretin,” Arthur snarls, bending over his stomach and moaning. 

He sounds like he’s dying. Merlin sprints for the phone and dials 999, clutching it to his ear, watching Arthur rocking in his chair, moaning and groaning, then subsiding to pants and gasps. He’s sat in a puddle. 

“Yeah, yes!” Merlin says, “ambulance, ambulance. Arthur’s having a baby!”

-Alright sir, steady. Let me get an address so I can dispatch someone to your location.-

Merlin reels off his address, moving warily back towards Arthur, the ruined breakfast.

“I think the floor’s going to need some work after this,” Merlin says, weakly, “Maybe I should just pay someone to get this place ready to sell. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been sensible and done that.”

-Calm down, sir. Can you tell me about the patient? I’ll pass the information on to the paramedics, and let you know what you can do to help.-

“The baby’s coming,” Merlin says. 

“Tell them about me you idiot! Tell them I’m a… tell them. Please. I don’t… oh gooooaaAAGH!” Arthur bends forwards again. 

Merlin reaches out to pat his shoulder, trying not to get his socks damp in Arthur’s insides. 

“Arthur’s a man, it’s a man who’s having the baby,” Merlin says, panic making him stupid, “I mean, he is a man now. He has a uterus, obviously, for the baby. But he doesn’t have the rest of the equipment! He didn’t plan this very well!”

-Could you calm down and… repeat that? Please? Did you say a man is having the baby?-

“Yes! Are you deaf? Seriously, not offensively. Because if you are, I’ll speak up or, or use Morse code or something. Is S.O.S short short short, long long long, short short short, or the other way round?”

-Take a deep breath, sir…. that’s good. Now, out again… and in…. that’s better, isn’t it?-

“Yes, it is.”

-Now. Can you tell me anything about the patient?-

“Arthur. His name’s Arthur. He’s trans, transgender,” Merlin says, mind finally clearing a little bit, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s trembling shoulder. “He’s supposed to be getting a c-section in two weeks,” Merlin continues, lowering and slowing his voice, “but he’s been having contractions, I think since about ten pm last night, though he says midnight. He was complaining of cramps and discomfort before that. His waters just broke, about two minutes ago.”

-That’s good, thank you. Alright, it’s eleven o’clock now, let’s say he’s been in labour for twelve to fourteen hours, waters have broken… okay, I’m going to put you through to a doctor who will talk to you about what to do next. Just hold the line.-

“We need to to go the hospital,” Merlin says, standing at Arthur’s side, now, and massaging across his shoulders to calm him a little, which seems to be working.

-an ambulance has been dispatched, the paramedics are on their way. Hold the line, please-

Merlin listens to the echoing, metallic music. Arthur’s breathing too fast, still, and when he looks up at Merlin the blankness is still there, terror chasing everything away. Merlin starts, without thought, talking Arthur through breathing, using the same things he used to calm Freya with. Arthur looks up at him, breathing along, Merlin using his hand on Arthur’s shoulders to help him keep track of the timing. 

“Better?” Merlin asks, when Arthur’s face crumples a little and his breathing evens. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good. Just relax, okay? I’ve got this, I’m cool and calm. I’ve got this,” Merlin says, grinning. 

Arthur actually laughs, then, and does an impression of Merlin flapping about and going on about hot water and towels. 

-hello, sir, I hear you have a baby on the way-

“Yes, yes! Hi.”

-can you tell me about the waters breaking?-

“It was gross,” Merlin says, wondering what he’s supposed to do, describe it?

-give me a description, as best you can. Was it just a dampness, or a gush? Is there any colour, or blood in the liquid? It should be clear and a little yellow, and there shouldn’t be a smell-

“Definitely a gush,” Merlin says, nodding firmly, looking at his floor, “for sure. It’s everywhere. No blood, no smell. Looks clear.”

-Great, that’s very good. I see.. hmm… first stage labour twelve to fourteen hours previous to waters breaking... good. Looks like you’re in the active stage, now, which means-

The speaker is cut off by Arthur yelling in pain again and bending forwards. This time he slides to the edge of the chair, half crouching, thigh muscles straining. 

-which means contractions are going to be getting intense-

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “uh, he’s being weird.”

Arthur gets off the chair and walks to the sofa, leaning on the back, and half crouches again.

-Is he bearing down? This is his first child?-

“Yes, bearing down? I don’t know. It’s his first. Arthur are you bearing down?”

“I don’t bloody oow!” Arthur shouts, grunting like a cow and crouching lower.

“Yes,” Merlin decides, wildly, “yes, he’s bearing down!”

-Talk to me about what he’s doing, how he’s sitting.-

“He’s not, he’s leaning on the sofa, crouching. Mooing.”

-I can hear the sounds, describe his physicality, please.-

“Um, kind of swaying, feet apart, crouching. His thighs are… um…” Merlin gets distracted and confused and he swears the person on the other end of the phone stifles a laugh.

-It sounds like he’s bearing down, but the baby is probably not on the way. Alright, let him do what’s most comfortable to him, but I’ve informed the paramedics to go sirens on, so you should be hearing them pretty soon. 

“Good. They’re on their way, Arthur. Hang tight, we’re doing good, apparently,” Merlin tells Arthur.

“I can’t do this,” Arthur says, “It hurts. Please.”

-try and keep him calm-

Merlin is so very experienced in keeping people calm. He moves across to Arthur again, and sets about rubbing his back. He finds the tense muscles and uses pressure to massage some of it away, easing the muscles all the way over Arthur’s shoulders and down his back. 

“You’re doing fine,” Merlin tells him, “Shh. I’ve got you, remember? You just focus on your baby and you. Forget the rest. I have the rest. Trust me.”

Arthur twists his head and stares at Merlin for a long time, sweaty and pink and still half blank with fear. Merlin meets his eyes and waits, trying to look trustworthy. 

“Tell me,” Arthur gasps, “something. Anything. Anything important about you, other than Freya. Please.”

“I…” Merlin wracks his brains, trying to think of something, knowing it’s for reassurance, “I lost my father, when I was four. I mean I literally lost him. I went to get an ice cream from the ice cream van, and when I turned back to the drive where we were playing, he was gone. I looked in the house, and he wasn’t there, either. He just up and left, while I was choosing whether to have a Snowman or a Mini-Milk.”

Arthur blows out a breath and nods, hanging his head again. He relaxes a little bit under Merlin’s hands. 

“Okay,” Merlin says, “he’s as calm as he’s getting.”

-I have a few questions that are going to be needed to ask, they’re a little invasive. Are you able to answer?-

“Probably.”

-Alright. Has Arthur had any bottom surgery?-

“No,” Merlin says, “no, just top.”

-He’s had top surgery?-

“Yeah.”

-Thank you. Is he on any hormones, or suppressors?-

“Just T. Right, Arthur? Nothing else?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, resting his head on his forearm and crouching for real. 

“He’s just crouched!” Merlin says, panicking a little, then getting hold of himself, “he doesn’t seem to be in pain, though, I think he’s just tired.”

“Too bloody right I’m tired,” Arthur says, “contraction’s gone, I’m just resting.”

“He says he’s resting. It’s okay.”

-Good. You stay calm, too. You’re both doing fine. Okay, I need to know how long he’s been on T.-

“Oh,” Merlin says, “I don’t know that one. How long have you been on T, Arthur?”

“Eleven years, give or take a month or two.”

Merlin passes on the answer.

-These next questions are routine, and again, a little invasive. Has he ever had an abortion, or a miscarriage?-

“God,” Merlin mutters, feeling embarrassed, but he gets the answers. 

-Does he get periods?-

“No.” 

-Has he ever had a pregnancy scare, or thought he might be pregnant?-

“Yes! But I was bloody thirteen and a virgin and I was just fucking stupid, like these questions!”

Merlin laughs, but then Arthur groans and goes stiff and starts rocking again, getting up and leaning into the sofa back.

“Another contraction,” Merlin says. 

-Okay, they’re getting closer together, you should be able to start timing them soon. Do you have something to do that with?-

“My phone,” Merlin says, digging it out of his pocket and starting the stopwatch. 

It’s two more contractions before they can actually start timing, and they’ve only timed between two when Merlin hears the sirens.   
“Ambulance is here,” Merlin says, “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. They’re here.”

-I’m going to hang up on you, now-

“Okay,” Merlin says, “bye.”

He shouts that the door’s open when he hears footsteps on the stairs and two paramedics come rushing into the room and over to Arthur, putting a blood pressure cuff on and throwing questions at him. Arthur answers and stays calm until another contraction hits and his knees bend outwards again. 

“He’s definitely bearing down,” The paramedic says, “I’m Mandy, does it feel like you need to poo?”

“Yes!” Arthur yells, pressing his face into the sofa. 

Merlin rubs his back, trying to ease his own breathing. 

”I’m going to do a quick exam,” Mandy says. 

“Could you call his vagina something else?” Merlin blurts, when Arthur stiffens under his hands. 

Arthur lets out a sob. Merlin frowns and moves his hand to the back of Arthur’s neck, squeezing in reassurance. Or something. He’s a bit panicky himself right now. He counts his breathing. 

“Is there something you’d like us to use?” Mandy asks.

Arthur shakes his head, crying harder. Merlin stands, helpless, and watches. 

“Genitals?” Mandy’s partner suggests.

Merlin feels Arthur’s back relax a little. 

“Either that’s okay or the contraction’s passing,” Merlin says. 

“Both,” Arthur pants, breathing hard, leaning into the sofa. 

“Alright. Let me do a quick exam, I’ll pass that along to the team at the hospital when we arrive and we’ll use genitals here.”

Mandy tries to get Arthur to sit or lie down, but he refuses, staying half crouched, thigh muscles trembling. Merlin has to help get his boxers off and he averts his eyes, but he’s seen it, now. Arthur’s muscular arse, tense and, wow.   
“You have a great bum,” Merlin says, “do you play rugby? Met a rugby player once with this kind of muscle. He was lovely.”

Arthur laughs and nods, pressing his wet face sideways into the arm of the sofa, one eye visible, looking at Merlin. Merlin grins at him and squeezes his neck again. 

“This is going to be uncomfortable, I’m afraid,” Mandy says. 

She talks Arthur through what she’s going to do and uses carefully gender-neutral words, and Arthur manages not to freak out when she feels between his legs. 

“Good, everything looks good. Baby’s in position, but not coming yet. We’ll have time to go in. TJ, can you- thanks.”

‘TJ’ unpacks a stretcher, but Arthur refuses, insisting on walking. Merlin helps him put his underwear on again, the only clothes he has other than his suit trousers, and takes one side, Mandy on the other. Arthur waddles out to the ambulance, breathing like a steam train, small grunts escaping now and then. He insists on sitting in the ambulance, and Merlin sits beside him, holding onto him. TJ and Mandy hop in and bang on the wall, and then they start to move. Mandy slides open a window into the driving cab.

“I think I want to go sirens. Let’s tell the hospital we’re bringing in a trans man, transitional stage of labour, dilation is 7, probably 8 by the time we get there. He’s feeling ready to push, but the baby’s not moving anywhere just yet.”

The sirens wail, and Arthur starts to panic, clinging to Merlin. Merlin talks him through it, soothing, counting, remembering doing the same thing for Freya on countless occasions. His own panic has gone, he’s entered an oasis of calm. Arthur’s having a baby, but everything’s under control.

“That floor is going to need scrubbing,” Merlin says, absently.

“Shut up about the floor,” Arthur says.

He can’t say anything else, another contraction overwhelming him. He starts yelling about needing to push and Mandy does another exam, Arthur on the edge of the bench, underwear around his knees. Mandy scrambles up and pops open the little window again.

“He’s going into second stage,” Mandy tells the driver, “he’s at completely dilated and the baby’s in position to start moving. He’s-”

Arthur cuts her off with a shout, trying to slide off the bench. Merlin hangs onto him and drags him back up. Arthur folds in half and grunts.

“He’s pushing,” Mandy says, “ETA?”

“We’re four minutes out.”

“Great,” Mandy says, “that’s fine, Arthur, you can push if you’d like to. No one’s coming just yet, this is your first baby, right?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, stroking Arthur’s sweat-wet hair off his face. 

“Oh god,” Arthur says.

Merlin talks Arthur through breathing again, and then, when that doesn’t help, starts in on the meditation based things he learnt for Freya. Those seem to help more and Merlin makes Arthur visualise floating on a cloud. Mandy smiles at him and nods encouragingly.

“You two are very sweet together,” Mandy says, when the contraction ends, “I need to take another look.”

Arthur groans and leans into Merlin. By the time Mandy’s done, they’re there. The ambulance slows to a stop and there’s a rush of activity as Arthur’s helped out of the ambulance and loaded into a wheelchair. Merlin protests loudly when people try to make him stay behind, and Mandy tells them Merlin’s the partner and father and needs to be there. Merlin doesn’t correct her. 

Once Arthur’s in a room he immediately crouches, leaning on the bed. Merlin has to do all the work of getting him into a gown. Merlin does not mind a bit, he gets a lovely view of Arthur’s back and arse and thighs. 

“You’re amazing,” Merlin tells him, rubbing over his shoulders, the tie of the gown rolling under his hand, “you’re doing really great.”

“Patronising bastard,” Arthur grits, already gearing up for the next push. 

 

The midwife appears almost immediately, introduces herself as Sally, and gets to work. She’s efficient and friendly, and she’s respectful about Arthur’s name, reading the chart. She also talks about Arthur’s genitals instead of his vagina and Merlin smiles, pushing wet hair off Arthur’s forehead again. 

“Okay, we’re all ready to go, here. Congratulations, your baby is on the way. Next contraction, bear down and push as hard as-” Sally begins.

She’s cut off by Arthur yelling, turning to bite into the bed clothes. Merlin watches as he bears down, muscles all straining. He rubs Arthur’s back through it and Arthur breathes afterwards, turning his head so he can see Merlin again. 

“Is it coming out?” Arthur whispers.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, beaming at Arthur, “it’s coming. Your baby!”

Arthur nods. Merlin pushes the sweaty hair off his forehead yet again, caressing the hot, damp skin

“Right,” Sally says, “I’m going to check again… good. Bear down again with the next contraction, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t yell next time, just breathes and moans and spreads his legs further, feet planted firmly. Merlin holds him, hand on the back of his neck again, holding his hand, talking about clouds and breathing.  
“Okay, okay,” Sally says, “you’re quick, the head is coming. Arthur, I need you to stop pushing. It might feel like you need to, but do not push. No pushing, no bearing down, you just have to breathe through it. Did you do any of this in preparation?”

“No,” Arthur says, then again on a sob, “no.”

“That’s fine,” Sally says, “I’m going to quickly show you the breathing.”

Arthur practises, holding Merlin’s hand tight, then breathes deeply, closing his eyes. 

“Here we go,” Sally says, softly, “baby’s ready to come, now.”


	4. Tickity-Boo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT!: More body stuff. Sorry. Last bit!

Arthur’s almost silent as the head appears, eyes clenched tight, clinging to Merlin, sweaty forehead pressed to Merlin’s forearm. Merlin talks him through the breathing, but he’s pretty sure the physical contact is what’s helping Arthur most, so he keeps on massaging and soothing his hands over Arthur’s body, pushing the wet hair away from his face. Merlin leans back to look. 

“Arthur! You have a baby coming out of you!” Merlin exclaims, “Its head’s between your legs! Oh, that’s weird. You have really muscular thighs, you know.”

“Rugby,” Arthur mutters, “the baby’s coming?”

“Yeah, I can see a head,” Merlin says, laughing, “there’s a bloody great head there! You’re like the bloody push-me-pull-you.”

Sally talks Arthur through the next step, checking the baby’s position again. 

“Good,” Sally says, “you’re doing brilliantly. Let’s get these shoulders out, this is the worst part I promise. We get these shoulders and we should be good. I need a big push from you, next contraction, really bear down.”

“Feels like I need a poo,” Arthur mutters, ears going a furious red. 

The contraction makes him moan long and low. 

“Keep going, keep pushing… a bit more, Arthur, push a bit more,” Sally says.

“Come on,” Merlin says, “come on! Give me an A! Give an R! Isn’t that how it goes on the pitch? Arthur!” 

Merlin flails in an attempt of cheerleading and Arthur turns his head to yell in Merlin’s face, cheeks bright red, sweat dripping. The yell peters off into laughter as the contraction ends. Merlin glances down in time to see Sally ease the shoulders out, and the baby slip into her hands. Merlin’s breath leaves him in a punch as the child slides out of Arthur’s body, blood and a flood of wet and goo and blood spattering to the floor. Arthur gasps for breath, thighs and back and arms all shaking. 

“He’s here,” Mandy says, “and he is a little boy.”

Arthur laughs shakily and Merlin helps him collapse onto his knees. There’s a nurse, whose entrance Merlin missed, who comes over and cuts the cord.

“Do you want to deliver the placenta like this, or would you rather get into the bed, now?” Sally asks. 

Arthur just groans, dropping his head onto his forearms, trying to see his baby. Sally hands the tiny child over and Arthur holds the small body to his chest, already getting up into a crouch again. The placenta comes out much quicker than the baby and before Merlin knows it Arthur’s being helped onto the bed, and Arthur finally allows himself to lie down. He makes Merlin raise the head of the bed all the way up, though, the baby resting on his chest. Merlin stands, watching, as Arthur finally relaxes. 

“Hello,” Arthur whispers, voice hoarse, “hello, little one. Hello. I think your name is Frankie.”

“It suits him,” Merlin says, and it does. 

The baby is definitely a Frankie. The name fits with a little click; the wide nose, the neat little ears, the right way his face scrunches up. Merlin reaches out to touch and gets goo on his hand. 

“Ew,” Merlin says, wiping it on Arthur’s gown.

Arthur breathes out for a long time, eyes closing, cupping his baby’s head. Then he opens his eyes and smiles at Merlin. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Arthur says. 

A nurse brings a bottle of formula over and Sally shows Arthur how to offer Frankie the rubber nipple until he latches on.Frankie, after eating, falls asleep and Arthur follows soon. Sally talks to Merlin about what to expect in terms of checks and doctors and nurses, and then one of the nurses talks to him for awhile about nappies and formula. He’s left with a Bounty Pack and a whole lot of knowledge to remember to pass on to Arthur. 

“Well,” a jovial, tired looking doctor (who forgot to introduce himself) says, two hours later, “Frankie looks absolutely fine. No illnesses, no abnormalities. You have a healthy baby. Everything is tickity-boo, with both of you.”

“It’s tickity-boo,” Arthur repeats, smiling, looking down at his baby, “Frankie’s very tickity-boo. He’s perfect. Look.”

Merlin looks at the tiny, sleeping face, and has to agree that he’s a very beautiful baby. His skin is much darker than Arthur’s, much much darker. He already has hair, black and thick and fuzzy. He looks soft and new and brilliant. 

“I can’t believe that came out of you,” Merlin says.

Arthur just smiles, stroking Frankie’s hair. 

“Good,” the doctor says, finishing with the chart, “there’s one last set of checks that will be done, and then you’ll be able to go on home. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours, we just have to wait for a colleague of mine to be free.”

Merlin wonders where Arthur’s planning to go, when he gets out. He hopes Arthur plans to stay at Merlin’s at least a day or two. Otherwise Merlin’s going to have to fight him about it. He’s fairly sure Arthur shouldn’t be traveling across the country right after giving birth. 

Arthur’s cheerful, seemingly already getting over the exhaustion and fear. He smiles around at them, strokes Frankie’s hair, pats Frankie’s back, feels over the tiny limbs and body, tucking a tiny hand back into the blankets before smiling around again. Merlin makes him promise to come back to the boathouse, and Arthur admits that he hadn’t really had any other plan.


	5. Why be Sad When We Have Him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resting.

Arthur and Frankie and Merlin get a taxi back to the boat house, and Arthur and Frankie sleep on the sofa while Merlin scrubs the floor and chair and armrest. On a roll, he starts packing up some of Freya’s things, as well. The boxes stack up around him and he mentally starts making more space in the storage locker he’s renting. He can’t keep everything, most will go to the charity shop or maybe be sold, but there are some things that he can’t let go of. 

“You look miserable,” Arthur says, startling Merlin from staring out across the lake, “Why? We have Frankie.”

“He’s lovely, Arthur, but not the cure for all ills. I was just contemplating something, don’t worry. I’m not unhappy.”

“Can you take a photo of Frankie? I should send one to my father, even if he’ll pretend he isn’t interested. I should call him, actually. Tell him he’s a grandfather. Pass me the landline.”

Merlin does as he’s told, but holds onto the phone until Arthur gives him grudging thanks. Merlin grins and ruffles Arthur’s hair, strokes Frankie’s cheek, and goes to make himself a sandwich. 

“You hungry?” He calls, waiting for a negative answer before carrying on his foraging in the fridge. 

Merlin feels no guilt about listening in to Arthur’s phone conversation. 

“Hello father… congratulations, you have a grandson. His name is Frankie, he was born at half past one this afternoon, he weighs seven pounds and eight ounces… I know… no, father I didn’t change my mind, but… everything was fine. I was at a good friend’s house and he was brilliant… paramedics came… no complications. He came somersaulting out, almost. It happened really fast… I didn’t know they were contractions, Dad, or I would have gone in sooner. I thought it was just cramps…”

Merlin smiles, plating his sandwich, heading over to the armchair.

“He’s waking up, Dad. He has amazing eyes. They’re golden brown, like a tiger,” Arthur says, smiling down at the baby. 

Frankie snuffles, head moving. 

“He’s rooting… I know that father, yes, they are bloody stick on nipples and no, he won’t… yes. Merlin, can you make a bottle? The Midwife gave me a whole load of stuff, it’s in the bags… Dad, he’s fine,” Frankie chooses that moment to start crying, “I know he’s crying, he’s hungry. He’s fine… I’m fine too!... because you’re being annoying… I will bring him to see you and you’ll see… Uther!” 

Merlin finds the bottle and formula and retreats to the kitchen. He’s not sure who ‘Uther’ is but Arthur said his name with horror and anger, so Merlin scurries. 

“Uther Pendragon, you racist bastard,” Arthur says, disgusted and loud, “yes, he has Jamie’s ‘colouring’... oh. Yeah, it’s actually a little darker than Jay, and his hair’s jet black…. he looks nothing like me, obviously, and no, not like you either.”

Merlin stifles a laugh. 

“I know you’re not racist, it’s just been stressful, Dad… they were really nice, they didn’t at all… I know you were worried… yes that is what you meant, you’re allowed to be worried. But it’s fine. Frankie’s perfect, and I’m fine, and we’re both great, basically. I’m just going to sleep for ages… yes it’s bloody sore, obviously.”

Merlin checks the bottle on his wrist, but has no idea how hot it’s meant to be. He passes it to Arthur and Arthur does the same test and, by the bemused look on his face, he has no idea either. 

“Dad? How do you tell if a bottle’s too hot?”

Merlin sits with his sandwich and watches Arthur being talked through how to feed a fussy infant. Arthur’s father, from what Merlin can tell, sounds like a strange mix of ‘complete arsehole’ and ‘big softy’. He seems to err on the side of the latter when it comes to Arthur plus progeny, if Arthur’s reactions are anything to go by. 

“Yeah, Dad, thanks. He’s eating… bye. Dad? I love you…. no I am not an emotional wreck! Bye, Dad… Bye!” Arthur hangs up and shakes his head, cradling Frankie more comfortably now he has both hands entirely free. “Can you take that picture, Merlin?”

Merlin accepts Arthur’s phone and takes a few. He’s about to hand the phone back when Arthur makes a strange face. Frankie finishes the bottle and nuzzles closer to Arthur, making little contented sounds, feet kneading Arthur’s arm, and Arthur’s face just softens to something entirely beautiful. Merlin takes a photo, catching Arthur in the warm evening sunshine, Frankie’s skin and Arthur's hair lit up.

“You know, all your family pics are going to have one or the other of you properly lit,” Merlin says, looking at Frankie’s shadowed face in the last photo, “you’re so light. Like, luminously white.”

“I am aware, thank you,” Arthur says, “give me that.”

Merlin hands over the phone with a grin and goes back to his sandwich, finally being allowed to finish it, as Arthur and Frankie are soon napping again. Merlin washes and sterilizes the bottle and sets out all the things he’ll need next time Frankie’s hungry. He’s under no illusions that Arthur’s going to be doing anything as long as Merlin’s here and offering. Merlin thinks about Freya as he works, how she never wanted children though she loved spending time with them, remembering her holding Gwen’s first child, her face framed by long hair. 

Arthur stays for the rest of the week and Merlin gets used to him and Frankie both. He gets used to making up bottles and being woken in the middle of the night, gets used to Arthur napping on the sofa in the sunshine or showing Frankie the rain. Gets used to Arthur walking the length of the house to settle Frankie to sleep, gets used, even, to feeding Frankie. The warm weight of the baby in his arms, the frantic way he sucks the milk down, the tiny pout when the bottle is gone and Merlin takes the nipple out of Frankie’s mouth. He and Arthur learn, through trial and error, how to burp the baby and to put a cloth over their shoulder before doing that. Merlin gets used to milky vomit and tiny, gross, nappies. 

“How can someone who only imbibes milk make so much poo?!” Merlin says, wiping it off Frankie’s legs and back, “should we just dump him in the bath, maybe?”

“Might be easier,” Arthur says, around a yawn, curled up on the sofa, “I’m still so sore, maybe I can hold him while you run a bath, and you can bath him and bring him back nice and clean in a towel for me?”

Merlin snorts and opens his mouth to suggest something where he doesn’t do absolutely everything (even though he will do exactly as Arthur suggests, because Arthur is like that and Merlin can’t help himself), but he doesn’t get any further because at that moment Frankie kicks his legs, lets out a monstrous fart, and poos all up Merlin’s arms. 

“Ahh!” Merlin says, while Arthur laughs hysterically, “you little horror!”

Frankie just gums contentedly at Merlin, and Arthur keeps on laughing. Merlin gives up, leaving Frankie to lie on the floor while he runs the bathtub and washes poo off himself. 

“You missed his first poo, at the hospital,” Arthur says, when Merlin comes marching back to scoop up the baby, “it was spectacular. Got the nurse good, even managed to catch a bit of wall. He’s gonna be an artist.”

“A poo artist. Fantastic,” Merlin says, but he’s smiling and he can’t find it in himself to be mad. 

Merlin gets weed on more than he thought possible, and gets pooed on twice more. When Arthur tells Merlin on Sunday that Lance will be arriving Monday morning to cart father and baby back to Uther and real life, Merlin still feels a sharp pang. No more nappies or sleepless nights of wee or puke or any of the awful things, but no more Frankie, either. No more Arthur. Merlin nods at Arthur and feels glum. Arthur tuts and dumps the baby into his arms. 

“Here, have a cuddle with the cure of all ills,” Arthur says. 

Merlin smiles slightly, touching Frankie’s soft cheek. Frankie’s awake and he stares up at Merlin, blinking heavily as he dozes off, eyes gold-brown and bright with intelligence. Already learning. 

“I’ll miss the little terror,” Merlin says, “when you go.”

“Just him?” Arthur asks, grinning. 

“Yes,” Merlin says. 

Arthur just laughs, going to make a bottle up.


	6. Having Signal in a Sulk is IMPORTANT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curtains, please.

It turns out Arthur leaving doesn’t mean he vanishes off the face of the earth: he texts and emails constantly, apparently bored at Uther’s house with nothing to do but sleep, eat, feed the baby and not sleep at normal times. Merlin doesn’t realise any of this until he gets home. He spends two more weeks at the boathouse sulking and moping, missing Arthur and Frankie, not going anywhere, getting the house ready for sale. He packs everything into the van he bribes Gwaine to drive up, and leaves the house empty except for furniture, ready for the realtor. The boats he sold before coming up, and Lance arranged for Arthur’s car to get towed the day Arthur left. 

So when Merlin leaves, he leaves a house empty of anything, of everything. He feels grief tug at him, like a thread holding him there, as he drives away. He has to pull over after an hour’s driving because he’s crying too hard. He curls up over his handlebarsand fishes his phone out to ring Gwaine, who soothes and sympathises and promises to get him drunk when he gets home. It’s when Merlin hangs up, with a better hold of himself, that he discovers the texts and emails that piled up while he was out of service. Most of them are from Arthur. Lots of them are photos of Frankie. Two are selfies. 

One is a photo of; Arthur’s bum, a randomer’s bum, or someone’s elbow. Merlin rings Arthur. 

“Arthur, you’re so weird,” Merlin says, without preamble.

-you didn’t answer any of my communiques, so I had to get your attention. And, I figured, you already saw it.-

“You’re still weird. Do you have a moustache now by the way?”

-Mm, haven’t really been shaving. It drives my father nuts, which is the most entertainment I get these days. I’m not allowed to do anything, according to Uther.-

“He’s protective, it’s sweet.”

-My mother died having me, it’s most certainly paranoia and not protectiveness. I’m fine, Dad! Fine!-

Merlin hears another voice in the background, and Arthur laughs. 

-He says I’m a useless father and I woke the baby. He’s walking Franks, my feet are sore.-

“I see you’re taking advantage of his ‘paranoia’.”

-Obviously. Why do you think I agreed to come here?-

Merlin laughs and leans back in the seat, sighing.

-Are you alright? I didn’t hear from you. I know there’s no signal, but you must get it somewhere around there, when you go shopping or something-

“I had a lot to do, I didn’t really go anywhere,” Merlin says, feeling sadness swamp him again, “she’s really gone, Arthur. There’s nothing left. The house is empty, nothing there. She’s gone.”

-Yeah-

Merlin closes his eyes and listens to Arthur’s breathing, tears sliding wetly down his face and tickling the side of his nose, dropping off his chin. 

“God, Freya.”

-Um, I don’t really… hang on, hang on-

Merlin listens as Arthur moves through the house, from the sound of it. There’s a muffled conversation and then Frankie starts to cry. 

-listen to this, Merlin-

Arthur must hold the phone to Frankie’s face because the sound of him crying comes through loud and clear. Merlin laughs, a sob catching in there somewhere. Frankie’s cries gradually die down, but Arthur keeps the phone with him as he settles the baby and Merlin listens to the snuffling breathing and occasional cries, until Arthur comes back on. 

-Better?-

“Cure for all ills, huh?” Merlin says. 

-Exactly-

“I guess I feel a little better. Sorry.”

-mate, I pissed on your floor, had a baby, got placenta everywhere. I think we’re good.-

“You pissed? I missed that.”

-Yeah, when I was pushing, just a little. You missed it? I shouldn’t have said anything.-

“Too late.”

Merlin talks to Arthur for ages, but eventually he has to hang up. It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he doesn’t know where Arthur lives, and Arthur doesn’t know where ‘home’ is. They could be at opposite ends of the country, never see one another again. Merlin cries again, though probably not really about that. He’s a bit of a mess for a few days, but Gwaine comes around and watches bad TV and drinks beer with him, which Merlin supposes is supportive. 

-Merlin- Arthur says, ringing four days later, -never take a baby in a taxi. Franks cried the entire way to the doctor’s and the entire way back and the taxi guy swore at me in Swahili, French and Portuguese-

“How do you know it was those languages specifically?”

-I speak excellent French, I had a flatmate who was Portuguese and swore a lot, and the Swahili is a perhaps erroneous assumption based on the driver telling me he was from Kenya. You know, I never realised that having a baby would mean suddenly finding the news terrifying. Like, there are so many things out there just waiting to get him. He’s so tiny. And I have a new hatred for Boris Johnson.-

“Why?”

-I don’t know. I think it’s Frankie, though. I mean, Boris is all very funny as long as it’s just my city he’s messing about with, but now it’s Frankie’s home, too, and I feel like hunting him down and taking a potshot at him for not doing more to make it a hundred percent safe-

“You live in London?”

-Obviously, Merlin.-

“But, so do I. Or, I live in Morden, anyway, which almost counts.”

-No you don’t.-

“What? I do.”

-But I live in Wimbledon. If you live in Morden it means we’re practically neighbours.-

“Seriously?”

-Yeah.-

Merlin laughs. 

“Arthur, would you and your rugby-playing, disgustingly muscled thighs and bum like to bring your lovely son to dinner at my house one night? And, perhaps, if you like, we could call it a date?”

-I shall have to consult my thighs, you know. They’re rather particular. My bum’s a bit slutty and less picky. Oh wow, that was much more sexual than it was meant to be.-

“I like where it was going,” Merlin says, hopefully.

-I refuse to have any kind of sex. I am not having more of these monsters. I haven’t slept for weeks, Merlin. Weeks. And the Boris Johnson thing is problematic, everyone at work loves him. I’m going to be the odd sock out.-

“You do realise-”

-No sort of sex at all. Don’t care, la la la!-

Merlin laughs again and agrees to never, ever have sex anywhere in the vicinity of Arthur, just in case another baby should accidentally pop out. 

“I take it back,” Arthur says, when he arrives for dinner, “Frankie’s asleep and I am so, so in love with him. I want a hundred more.”

“Wait till he starts teething. Or reaches the terrible twos. He’s going to be a teenager, soon. Do you want hundreds of teenagers?” Merlin says, letting Arthur in, beaming all over his face. 

Arthur looks good. Tired, but good. Less frantic than when Merlin met him, and more hairy. His stubble scratches when Arthur kisses Merlin’s cheek. Frankie’s grown, Merlin realises when Arthur gets him out of the car seat and plonks him into Merlin’s arms just in time for him to wake up and start bawling for food. And when his eyes open, there’s even more going on in there, bright eyes showing so much intelligence. 

“Isn’t he awesome?” Arthur says, leaning on Merlin’s shoulder, chin digging in.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “yeah.”

 

the end

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT NOTES/WARNINGS!: this story is about a trans man being pregnant. It talks pretty openly and graphically about bodies, names for genitals, dysphoria. There IS content related to trans bodies and trans lives. As I write from only one experience, and as a closeted person, this is all very, very subjective and as such may be upsetting to some!


End file.
